do not hesitate to leap
by hawkenado
Summary: "'A favour for your runaway,' is what Stroud said, and the Warden-Commander just let him dump you here - where he gets off talking to her of all people like that I'll never know, but, none of my business." Or, Carver Hawke is back in Ferelden and Does Not Like Nathaniel Howe.


**_ONE_**

The light is too bright. That's the first thing he registers. His eyes are closed. Filtering through his lids with burning pain is a light that is far too bright. He might have said so, but his mouth isn't working properly and his limbs feel far too heavy to block it out, so he makes a disgruntled noise.

The next thing he knows is darkness. His eyes are open - not focused, but open. The room around him is blurry but there's a soft white coming from nearby, and a freezing breeze. The room is very cold and very quiet. His limbs feel a little lighter now, and he manages to grasp at the blankets around his middle and pull them up, with some small amount of success. His body warms and, satisfied, he stops knowing again.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. A kind voice is urging him to, but his eyelids feel heavy, and opening them means admitting he's awake, and then he'll have to get up and do things. He sighs, or at least tries to, but his throat protests and he sits up, a hacking cough forcing itself out of him. A cup is pushed into his hands and he drinks readily before finally letting his eyes fall open.

He's surrounded by beds. He's_ in_ a bed. There's winter light shining comfortably in through a window, and he can smell the sea. The place is clearly one of healing, but a damn sight cleaner than Anders' filthy clinic. Begrudgingly, blearily, he turns to look at the source of the water in his hand. A bright, shining face smiles back at him, the pointed tips of her ears and the intricate _vallaslin _doing nothing to dampen the kindness in her eyes.

"Hello, dear," she says, her Dalish accent strong. "How are you feeling?"

"Um," he says dumbly, blinking a few times before draining the cup. "Where am I?"

The elf smiles wider and places a warm hand on his shoulder. He only now sees a staff leaning against the chair she sits in.

"Are you a healer?" He asks, glancing down at his shoulder. The elf just laughs.

"Oh, I wouldn't call myself a very good one, but yes. The Keep hasn't had a Spirit Healer in years, and the Circles jealously guard theirs. If we had, you'd have been up and fighting weeks ago - as it is, you're lucky I was here."

She takes a breath, and Carver looks around, trying to take in the room.

"'A favour for _your _runaway,' is what Stroud said, and the Warden-Commander just let him dump you here - where he gets off talking to her of all people like that I'll never know, but, none of my business."

Her babbling reminds him of Merrill, which in turn reminds him that he has no idea where he is.

"Um, sorry," he says again, "where am I?"

The elf pauses and raps herself on the head.

"I'm babbling again, how rude. You're at Vigil's Keep of course, dear. I'm Myriani, I'm a Warden here, just like you now!"

He just continues staring at her, his mind scrabbling. He remembers the Deep Roads, and catching the Blight and desperately trying to hide it from his sister. Marian had enough on her plate as it was, trying to dig them out of the damned Thaig. After that was blurry - he remembers an Orlesian accent, his sister pleading. Anders' insisting. Fear suddenly grips him.

"Marian! Is Marian alright?" He says it louder than either of them expect, and the elf startles before catching herself. "Sorry," he whispers, and she smiles that beaming smile again.

"Your sister is just fine. We've already had lots of letters from Kirkwall." Her voice lowers. "I can't believe you know Varric Tethras. Sigrun will lose her mind."

"Sigrun will what?" Comes a voice from the door, and a dwarf with the most alarming facial tattoos he's ever seen grins at them. Myriani jumps a little, grasping her staff.

"Hello Sigrun," she says placidly. "How was your patrol?"

"Terrible," Sigrun answers. "Velanna killed more Darkspawn than me four to one. Her flame blast is getting way too good, it's unfair!"

Myriani just nods, not saying a word. Sigrun looks at Carver.

"You're the new Marcher, hey?" She asks. "You look a bit young."

"I'm Ferelden, actually," is all he can think of to say, defence tinging his words.

"Oh hooo," comes a thick voice from the door. "New boy's touchy."

"New boy is in pain," he snaps at the orange and hairy dwarf, and Myriani jumps to action.

"What is this, weekly Wicked Grace?" She says strictly. "No, it's the infirmary. Now get out, both of you. I have patients attend too."

The orange dwarf and the one named Sigrun both look suitably chastised, though the bearded one may have just been struggling to keep his liquored head up.

"Yes ma'am," Beardy leers salaciously and they exit together, voices echoing against the stone. Carver looks back at his healer, blinks, and makes a noise of despair. She takes pity on him.

"You're at Vigil's Keep, in Amaranthine. You've been in and out of consciousness for about a month - long enough for Warden Stroud to bring you here from the Kirkwall Deep Roads where they found you. Welcome to the Wardens!"

_A month?_ He tries to take it in.

"Don't I have to drink out of a cup or something?" He asks, for lack of anything else to say. Myriani waves her hand.

"You did that weeks ago, my dear. Your Blight sickness was very bad when they found you, and recovery is different for everyone - the strongest among us often take the longest to heal."

He makes a noise of understanding, and Myriani indicates for him to lie down again.

"Get some rest. Tomorrow morning, you'll meet with Ambroise, who has made a uniform for you, and then you'll go see the Warden-Commander, so you'll want to be well rested."

Carver doesn't need any more encouragement than that.

##

There are more of them than he expects. Twenty Wardens are crowded around the breakfast table, joking and laughing. The occasional piece of toast flies into someone's ear or head, and they eat enough for a large army between them. Carver is on his eighth sausage after already polishing off what felt like a kilogram of scrambled egg. Myriani whispers that there are a few more Wardens, but that a brigade will always be on patrol at some point. She's not in her Warden robes, but rather a soft sleep shirt. Many still wear their pyjamas, while others are fully dressed for the day, and Carver is somewhere in between.

Sigrun greets him with a grumbled hello - she's no morning person, he learns. The other dwarf is absent, but people of all colours and sizes litter the various tables, fed by a formidable woman named Ms Prescott who doesn't smile at anyone.

He still feels tired - exhausted, really - but the sheer amount of food he eats gives him the energy boost he needs to meet a new girl who is not a Warden but a wholesome Ferelden seamstress apprentice. She's all smiles around her soft brown hair and her freckles. The kind of farm girl he'd have been flexing for a few years ago, but now she just seems young and he feels world-weary.

She leads him through many doors - the Keep is bigger than he expected. Everything is just _more_ than he expected. He knows he'll have to find his way around eventually, but for now he's content to follow her. The room she takes him to is brighter than most of the others, and the sheer amount of blue, white and shiny silver is almost overwhelming.

"Ambroise is our outfitter. He works with our quartermaster," the seamstress, Jetta, tells him. The man is Orlesian to his bones, and his efficiency is enough that Carver only has to stutter out a few answers as he's dressed in the new heavy armour and it's adjusted around him. Apparently, they'd gotten measurements off his sleeping body, and the armour is new and amazingly high quality. He's never had something so nice in his life, save the sword his sister gave him after their first year in Kirkwall, some blade she'd found that they discovered later belonged to some old Tevinter guard. Marian had decided it looked like a giant carving knife, and was therefore suitable for him. He'd laughed sarcastically and rolled his eyes at the time, but later he'd thanked her by buying the ingredients to cook her favourite meal out of his own pocket.

It takes most of the day, but he's decked out in stripes and checks, blue and white and silver, and with his newly shaven chin and haircut, he looks almost impressive. Still pallid, still sick, but like a Grey Warden should. Ambroise fusses over him for a good hour, and in the end he's pushed in the direction of barracks with a towering pile of armour and underthings. He is, apparently, responsible for his own clothing outside the basics. The barracks are big, with bunks shoved in next to each other. It reminds him of the Ferelden Army, and suddenly he feels less like he's in a surreal dream and more like he's in the ass end of his home country without either of his sisters. He suddenly misses them both terribly. He resolves to write to Marian when he next gets the chance.

"Hawke!" comes a voice from the hall. "The Warden-Commander has arrived and she's asked to see how her 'gift' from Stroud is doing."

Carver drags on his armour as quickly as possible, adjusting his chestplate as he half-jogs down the hall after the man, who on the way explains that he's the seneschal and his name is Varel, and he runs the place when the Warden-Commander is doing her 'other job'. Carver wants to ask what her other job is, but stops dead when he enters the main hall and his question is more than answered.

The first thing he notices is that she's bigger than the paintings. She's still maybe half a head shorter than him, but she's broad and muscular, and her arms are knotted, shoulders set in a way that screams _warrior_ even as she relaxes in the Arling's throne. Her hair's also less… _less_ than usually depicted, and her smile is warmer. Despite the few silver scars lining her face, she's incredibly _pretty_. He immediately drops to his knee.

"Your majesty," he says, head bowed. He hears a dry laugh from the queen.

"None of you told him?" she asks the others in the room, the ones she outshone by a mile, and would even without her station. "Oh, you're all cruel! The poor man." She then addresses him. "Hawke? Carver, isn't it? Please, stand up."

He scrabbles to comply, finding himself face to face with the woman who killed an Archdemon and lived to tell the tale. Her eyes are kind and blue, not the piercing hue of the Amell bloodline but a softer kind, like the sky. He absently decides he understands why his King was so taken with her.

"You're looking much better," she remarks, and he feels every eye in the room turn to him. He still can't take his own off her, though.

"Thank you, your majesty," he offers, as graciously as can be expected. She waves a calloused but elegant hand.

"Please, none of that here. Elissa, if you please." The look on his face must tell her he doesn't please. "Cousland, if you like." His expression doesn't change and she sighs, clearly amused. "Warden-Commander, if you absolutely must." She conceded.

"Yes, Warden-Commander," he replied. She gave him a slightly cheeky grin.

"Ferelden boys," she sighed, before shifting in her chair. "I'm glad to see you're doing well. Your Blight sickness was the worst I've seen, no thanks to Stroud. The man may be a very good Warden, but his compassion is greatly lacking."

"I-I don't remember him very well, Your Ma- Warden-Commander," he stuttered, trying to fill the sudden silence.

"No, I don't suppose you would. Oh well, his loss, in my opinion. I've heard stories of your prowess with a sword, even from across the Waking Sea. Even if only half of them are true, I'm pleased to have you join our ranks, Warden Hawke."

Carver grimaces weakly, hiding the pride that's swelling in his chest, unbidden. He's been too busy the past few days to truly take in what's happening, and he knows that eventually, he'll sit down on the edge of his bed and mourn what he lost with his sister and his friends in Kirkwall, crazy bunch that they were. But right now, he is standing in front of the Queen back in his home country, and really, the smell of Elissa Cousland's dog is enough to put any true Ferelden at ease.

"Now," the Queen says strictly, all business. "I'm afraid I have an ulterior motive calling you here." The hall quietens. "Warden Stroud tells me that you are… friends with another Grey Warden. He's known as Anders."

Carver must pull a face, because she quickly jumps to dispel any conclusions. "We're not going to drag him back. Well, at least we won't unless you think we have reason to?"

"No, no, of course not," he says sarcastically, unable to stop himself once he's begun. As the words fall out of his mouth his mind scrabbles. "What harm could a possessed apostate housing a spirit of justice and a vicious hate for anything Circle of Magi be?"

He slaps both hands over his mouth in horror after he speaks and he can feel his skin turning what must be a charming shade of red. He just sassed the Queen. _He_ just _sassed _the _Queen_. It is not her who speaks next.

"Justice?" comes a voice by her side. A man who'd been standing behind the chair steps forward, his ornate bow catching on another chair in his haste. "Did you say Justice?"

The Warden-Commander lays a hand on his shoulder and murmurs a quick word, silencing him, but the man fixes Carver with a determined stare.

"Okay," says the Warden-Commander, "this is a conversation for a private setting. Varel, do you mind having someone bring us lunch in the side room?" The seneschal bows and moves away, and she speaks again. "Warden Carver, please join us." She then stands and the bowmen follows her to a door on the right. He follows them both, but is unable to hear the quiet conversation between them.

They reach the room, which is furnished with some quite lavish couches and a small coffee table. The bowman takes off his weapons before slouching onto the arm of one, but Carver remains standing until the Queen sits. The bowman won't take his eyes off Carver. The door closes and Carver immediately speaks.

"Your Majesty, I am _so_ sorr-"

"Carver," the Queen says, stopping his apology. "Please, my name is Elissa. Don't make me order you to use it, because I will. And your sarcasm is a nice change – it reminds me of a friend of mine, actually."

Carver only nods, terrified to open his mouth, so she fills the silence.

"Nate, stop glaring," she says to the bowman. "Your face will get stuck like that, and then I'll always be asked, 'Elissa, why does your Warden-Constable look like he's trying to take a shit all the time?'"

Carver barks out a slightly outraged laugh and the cheeky grin from earlier is back. 'Nate' smirks and his face suddenly softens in a way that makes him much more human. They're interrupted by the door again, but it's just Varel, who sits by Elissa. Little sandwiches and some tea quickly follows him, and they're ready to talk.

"So." The queen says after swallowing down some tea. "Anders. Justice. What in Maker's name?"

"It's a long story," Carver sighs, feeling much more comfortable than before.

"I like a good story," Elissa counters, so Carver begins.

"How do I put this? My family ran when Ostagar fell. We got out of Lothering just in time."

Elissa nods and he recalls hearing she travelled through just days before the town was destroyed.

"We were… well, I know if sounds crazy but we were saved by a dragon-witch and we managed to make it to Kirkwall, which is where my mum grew up. Only our family isn't fancy and high class anymore and our uncle spent the fortune, so we had to work as mercenaries for a year to get in. My sister… well, she's an apostate, so after we stopped serving the Red Iron we started looking for something to get us money and leverage. She… doesn't belong in a Circle. I don't think any of them could hold her."

"Get on with it," Nate grouses, and Elissa gives him a sharp look.

"I'm getting there!" he protests, but she signals for him to continue. "Anyway, we decided that we needed something, some kind of defence against the Templars, and we caught wind of a Deep Roads expedition. This absolute nug shit of a dwarf, pardon my Orlesian, told us that he wouldn't let us sign on, but his brother knew about Marian and told us that if we got maps and money Bartrand – that's the nug shit – would let us be partners. So Varric –"

"Varric? Tethras? Sigrun's gonna freak!" Nate says, and Elissa smirks, nodding.

"Anyway," Carver says with emphasis, "We start doing odd jobs, scraping money together, and Varric tells us about this ex-Warden in Darktown who might have maps for the Deep Roads. So we wade through the stink and find this dirty old mage who's healing refugees for free in this clinic."

"That… doesn't sound like Anders," Elissa admits, confused. She looks at Nate, who shakes his head.

"He's… from what Isabela says, he was pretty different before," Carver tries to explain.

"_Isabela_?" Elissa hisses, colour rising in her face, and suddenly Carver _knows_. Isabela, he decides, has been bloody everywhere.

"Go on," Nate insists.

"So we ask him, and he agrees to give us the maps if we break his friend out of the Circle. Because my sister can't turn down a challenge, we meet at the Chantry that night. Turns out, his friend's already Tranquil, and we've been set up. 'Crap,' I think, 'we're dead now, sister,' because we're surrounded by Templars, which, well, she's an _apostate_ and they're hardly going to take her while I'm alive. And then Anders goes all blue, even his eyes, and his voice is deeper than usual, and he says something about mage freedom and then starts killing them all with his staff. I've never seen magic like it, and I grew up with three mages."

"Three?" Nate asks.

"Uh, yeah," Carver throat is dry and he sips down some tea. "My dad, Malcolm, my twin – she uh, didn't make it to Kirkwall - and Marian."

"Malcolm Hawke?" Nate says, squinting. "Why do I know that name?"

Carver shrugs. "So Anders kills his friend – the Tranquil one. He begged for it, so I guess it wasn't murder, but it was a shame. Then he explains to my sister that he had a friend who was a Fade spirit of Justice trapped in our world who's possessed body was rotting, so Anders offered him a living host, but it went kind of wrong and now they're fused or something. It could all be horse shit, but –"

"No," says Nate, speaking over him. "Well, I mean, I didn't know about them merging, but there was a Fade Spirit named Justice. He was friends with us, helped us out a lot when we had some… issues with the Darkspawn. There was a big battle here, and we found the body Justice was possessing, but no sign of Justice or of Anders. We didn't even hear about him until missives from Stroud mentioned him."

"So he's… telling the truth?"

Elissa sighs, adjusting her armour to sit more comfortably. "He wouldn't have told you this, but Anders is one of the most talented Spirit Healers Ferelden has known. To combine him with an _actual_ spirit… well… please continue."

"Well, he ended up sticking around. He helped us get money for the expedition, and he is a damn good healer, so we weren't exactly going to turn him down. He and Marian got friendly, I guess, and even though he claimed to hate the Deep Roads he agreed to come with us. Insisted, actually, seeing as he was the only Grey Warden we knew and well, Deep Roads, Darkspawn…"

"I still don't understand how you got the Blight?" Nathaniel asks as he trails off. "It was an expedition, not a patrol. It shouldn't have happened."

"Ah. Yes. Well." Carver says, tamping down the anger he feels at remembering the betrayal. "Varric's druffalo-humper of a brother stole some idol we found and locked us in a thaig, so we had to go around. We found some weird rock demons and loads of Darkspawn, and at some point I got bitten. I… I dunno, I tried to hide it, but Marian noticed and I don't really remember much more."

The room is quiet for a long moment and the three of them take in what he's told them.

"This is… troubling," Elissa says at last. "I'm willing to take a bet that your dragon saviour was Flemeth, which is not good news, and the only other person I know who shares headspace with a Spirit is another healer, and she doesn't seem particularly malevolent." She sighs. "I don't know what to do about this."

"_This_ isn't our problem." Nate insists. "Anders chose to leave us, and he's an entire sea away. Let's just hope he keeps helping and not… well… Let's hope he doesn't go all bubbly and 'graah, raah,' on the poor people of Kirkwall. Your friend is dealing with Flemeth, she said. Not your problem. Not mine, not the Wardens'."

The queen makes a disapproving noise and sits forward, templing her fingers and staring at the stone floor for a moment.

"I won't ignore this, Nathaniel. Anders is our friend - _Justice _is our friend. We can't just..." She broke off with a sigh.

"Er, my lady?" Carver attempts, awkwardly shifting in his uniform. "Perhaps... Well, my sister would probably be willing to, er, advise us on how Anders is doing, once I explain to her you don't want to cart him back here at the first whisper of magey... stuff."

Elissa makes a pondering noise, and after a moment, nods. "There is little more we can do for the moment. Please keep Nate updated. He will relay anything of interest to me."

"Warden-Commander," says Varel, who has been silent until then. "You have a very early start tomorrow. Shall I prepare your bed?"

The queen nods, standing, and Carver jumps up to stand beside her. She gives him a smile and a nod of the head.

"Thank you for your help, Warden Carver. Nate will take you back to the barracks, lest you have forgotten where it is."

Carver hears Nate mumble something that might be 'will I now?' but he just bows as graciously as he can - which isn't very - and leaves the room with a quiet 'have a good evening, my lady.'

He waits in front of the door, but nothing of value can be heard through it, so he takes to staring around the keep. It is obviously very old and he vaguely remembers Myriani saying something about Avvar occupancy, so he imagines it's very sturdy. It is, however, very homey, and he doesn't know whether to attribute that to Varel and his cleaning staff or the sheer amount of _life_ the Wardens bring to it. He expected them to be sombre, strict. In fairness, he hasn't been on a patrol with them yet, but they seem to be quite joyous, and the camaraderie rivals any he's seen before. The Ferelden had been stiff and formal - the recruitment at the time was borne of desperation and nobody had time to learn each other's names, let alone get to know anyone else. Here, everyone knew everyone's name, and they sparred and ate and played Wicked Grace together, with the full knowledge that they face danger every day. It's surprising, Carver decides as he stares at the Warden insignia emblazoned on the drapes, that so many find camaraderie and friendship in what should be a dreary life. He wonders if maybe he just hasn't seen enough of it yet.

The door opens to reveal the bowman, while Varel and the queen remain in the room. Carver gives an awkward little cave before half-jogging to catch up with his guide. The man quickly slows down when he realises how fast he is walking.

"Apologies, Warden. I don't think we were properly introduced." He stops and turns, holding out of a gloved hair. "I'm Nathaniel Howe, Warden-Constable of the Keep. I… well, I pretty much run it, but keeping Elissa - I mean, Queen Theirin - as the Commander gives us… certain resources that we wouldn't otherwise have."

Carver grasps the man's hand in a tight shake.

"Carver Hawke. Do I know your name from somewhere?"

Nathaniel just shakes his head, gesturing for them to continue.

"You'll likely hear the story soon enough. It's not something I want to discuss right now though, I've encountered enough of my past tonight."

"You and Anders were close, then?" Carver asks skeptically as they reach the main hall. Nathaniel sighs a little, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes, mostly. We worked together a lot - you can probably see the closeness of the other Wardens?" At Carver's nod, he continues. "We only established ourselves here a year ago, but Elissa has this way of propagating friendship, even when she's at court with her husband. When she was here full time Anders and I joined, along with Oghren, Sigrun and Velanna. It's also around the time we picked up Justice. Anders disappeared during that battle we had, with Justice, apparently. Part of the Keep collapsed on him, but when we dug to look for him… well, he was probably halfway to the Marches by then."

Carver hums thoughtfully, looking out the windows.

"Did nobody tell you about the Queen, truly?" Nathaniel asks, a small amount of amusement colouring his voice.

Carver huffs, trying to fight the grin off his face. His shame gives way to a grudging amusement at the prank. "No. Damn them. She's not what I expected."

"Nobody expects Elissa Theirin, she's both more terrifying and funnier than anyone knows."

"Theirin? I thought she said..." Carver trails off, confused. He's certain she said Cousland.

"She uses her maiden names as a Warden, but she took the King's name when they married, of course."

"Of course," Carver echoes, and they reach the barracks. It's always quiet in this room, Carver has found. There are a few people sitting on their beds or reclined, reading a book or sleeping. Muffled sounds from the library - which has been turned into a makeshift common room. Deciding against joining them, for it's quite late, Carver starts to pull off his armour. Nearby, Nathaniel takes the bed that has been glaringly empty previously, shirks his leathers to the waist, and begins to un-braid his hair. Carver blinks for a moment - the man is more muscular than most archers he knows, but with broad shoulders and tapered hips that seem logical for the kind of work he does. He quickly looks away, realising he's been staring, and decides to change as well. Not looking at the archer again he dons his sleep clothes and pulls the covers up. Still recovering from his Blight sickness, he's out like a light almost instantly.

_Sister,_

_I know you've heard, but I'm alive and back home. Amaranthine in Summer is hotter than anywhere we lived. I miss how dry Kirkwall was. I'm sick of sweat. _

_One of the Warden's here is Varric's number one fan. Her name is Sigrun and she used to be in a group called the Legion of the Dead. Anyway, tell Varric that I'll probably be collecting that coin he owes me from Wicked Grace in the form of an autographed present. _

_I got new armour but they said my sword was better than the standard issue, so I should keep it. So thanks for that. _

_How is mother? I'm sorry you have to be dumped with her anger. I'll send her a separate letter in case you two aren't speaking again. She knows it's not your fault, by the way. You know, just in case she said it was like she always does._

_Tell Isabela that she's terrible and the Queen of Ferelden says hi. Speaking of which, she's asked for you to keep an eye on Anders. They don't want to drag him back here or anything. They're actually worried about him and Justice, there's a whole big story. Justice used to be a nice guy. He likes lyrium, so just throw a glowing Fenris at him when he's angry? Please let me know what you think of the idea. They seem sincere in wanting him safe._

_You smell,_

_Carver._


End file.
